


For They Shall See God

by FunkyinFishnet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Developing Relationship, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Male Slash, Pining, Wolf Pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-01
Updated: 2014-04-01
Packaged: 2018-01-17 19:23:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1399555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FunkyinFishnet/pseuds/FunkyinFishnet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a monster that feeds on grief and loss, and so much more. It’s going to feast on Beacon Hills. If it comes near Derek, Stiles is ready to do whatever it takes to stop the Alpha from being the perfect meal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For They Shall See God

**Author's Note:**

> Set between seasons two and three. A little alternate canon as in this fic Danny is part of the wolf pack. Title is inspired by Matthew 5: 3 - 12 in the Bible, part of the Beatitudes, I sort of mashed two of them together - 'blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted' and 'blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.'

 

 

Stiles took cheesecake to Derek that day; well, he regularly took food to the pack’s shiny new apartment. It was a sort of halfway house deal, being used by the pack while the Hale house finally underwent serious renovations. It was a fight that Peter had won judiciously by claiming that he’d start the DIY if nobody else did. That’d clearly made Derek’s hackles rise because he’d gotten renovations started soon after that conversation and the pack now split their time between remodeling the house and chilling out at the apartment.

 

 

 

Peter spent all his time looking smug about this turn of events. It was probably why he was now in Canada – reaffirming relations with other packs and avoiding Derek’s ever-boiling rage. Although, Stiles had caught sight of Peter in one of the Hale house’s wrecked rooms with a terrible look on his face. He hadn’t even said something snarky when he’d noticed Stiles’ presence, he’d just left silently. Then Stiles had found some trashed photo frames containing familiar faces and had vividly remembered that this had been Peter’s house once too. His reasons for renovation and then suddenly disappearing may have extended beyond simply annoying his hot-headed nephew.

 

 

 

The apartment was small and functional, cozy if you were feeling generous. There was a bedroom for Derek, a lounge where everybody else bedded down to sleep amongst a pile of sleeping bags, duvets, and pillows, a decent bathroom, and a large kitchen. Erica and Isaac were working on making the place look less like a flophouse with Boyd indulgently raising an eyebrow at their more outlandish ideas and stepping in when fights about what shade of blue worked best in natural lights got particularly heated.

 

 

 

It was nice and it was warm and no water came through the ceiling, which put it miles ahead of the other dens the pack had used before. Even Derek seemed pleased with it. Stiles certainly was, as was his Dad, who had not only found out about werewolves after a very long and coffee-fueled father-son chat, but also now took an active interest in the pack’s life. He’d been not so subtly hinting that the pack needed a water-tight place to sleep and call home and had looked very pleased with Derek’s efforts in that direction.

 

 

 

The pack sucked at nutritional meals though. That, Stiles owned. He showed up at least twice a week with home-cooked food, because he was lord of the kitchen and God, Scott, you cannot live on take-out and pizza rolls alone! Yes, it was all very convenient but it also clogged werewolf arteries even with super healing, and a healthy balanced diet was necessary for animals as well as humans. The pack didn’t complain; they mostly sort of fell on Stiles whenever he arrived armed with a warm casserole dish. Except Derek who mostly glowered in a corner with something brewing in his expression that inappropriate parts of Stiles reacted to inappropriately.

 

 

 

So he was armed with a homemade cheesecake – lemon and chocolate and looking good – and planned on staying the night at the pack apartment since his Dad was away for a few days and terrifyingly he and Derek had recently begun _working together_ to ensure Stiles’ safety and general well-being. They also had a lot of conversations when Stiles wasn’t around to eavesdrop. The whole thing made Scott smile in a really irritating way, but whenever Stiles needled him about that particularly smug flash of teeth, Scott laughed like Stiles already knew what he was talking about.

 

 

 

“Dude, you remember I’m a werewolf, right?”

 

 

 

“And you remember that I’ve got pictures of you from the infamous seventh grade zoo trip, right?”

 

 

 

Sadly foolproof blackmail had failed and Stiles was none the wiser as he did his usual visiting-the-pack-apartment routine – complaining voraciously about the pack’s attitude towards cleanliness, ferreting out any stashes of high-fat food, eying up Derek when he definitely wasn’t looking even though Stiles didn’t yet have definite evidence that disproved the ‘Derek has eyes in the back of his head’ rumor. Derek meanwhile was doing something complicated with a finance book while Stiles told him that he should make sure to get at least one piece of cheesecake for himself because the betas would consume all of it otherwise and that just wasn’t right. Also cheesecake totally had healing properties, if applied in the right way, and why was Derek looking so tense all of a sudden and…

 

 

 

Then all conversation stopped, because Isaac stumbled in the door, looking particularly wild-eyed. Derek immediately shot to his feet.

 

 

 

“Something’s out there,” the young beta gasped out, gesturing with a slightly wild hand. “Scott and I heard; someone’s been taken to the hospital, a fugue state?”

 

 

 

“Creepy, yes, but unusual, no, right?” Stiles pointed out, easing himself into Isaac’s personal space to try and calm the werewolf down.

 

 

 

An upset wolf meant probable shifting and a werewolf in an unstable emotional state was an insanely dangerous one. Stiles had learned quickly how to reassure and stabilize his friends; they needed reminders of pack bonds, they needed not to be alone. Derek must have been thinking along the same lines because he wordlessly squeezed Isaac’s shoulder and didn’t complain when Isaac leaned into him gratefully. Stiles stayed close while the wolf calmed down. There was no flash of gold in Isaac’s eyes, that was something. Points for wolf control. Stiles was thinking about grabbing some sodas for everybody and slicing up the cheesecake for the greater good when Isaac raised his head determinedly.

 

 

 

“Scott and his Mom are checking things out at the hospital. She was going to call us in tonight anyway because this is the fourth one – over the past two weeks people have been found awake but like nobody’s home. A ‘conscious vegetative state.’”

 

 

 

“Definitely more creepy now,” Stiles decided, trying to ignore the part where Scott and Isaac had obviously been hanging out together again. It was like he hardly saw Scott anymore for bro time.

 

 

 

Focus, Stiles. Because if Mrs. McCall had been planning on telling them about weird coma patients, then it had to be a medical mystery. Something supernatural was at work and it was quickly snapping up victims. Stiles patted Isaac on the back and grabbed his laptop. Thanks to some synthesis of sparse parts of Deaton’s book collection and a whole chunk of what Peter kept on his own laptop, Stiles was pretty set for resources. Of course, if it was something really unusual, they’d have to reach out, maybe to the hunting community or to Deaton. Neither were ever totally forthcoming.

 

 

 

Derek was frowning. Stiles was super aware of this fact as he typed frenetically, so he started unspooling his thoughts.

 

 

 

“There’s been no omega sightings in the area, or any other packs approaching. And the coven haven't been in touch, so either they've been holding out on us or there's something out there undetectable and super dangerous, which is such a gift...”

 

 

 

Derek got his cellphone out and made a call to Boyd, telling him to visit the Layfield coven with Erica and to ask for any information they had about a spell or a creature capable of rendering its victims living vegetables. The coven should play ball with them as per the agreement. After all, the Hale pack was holding up their end of the bargain by bringing the coven news of an urgent monster problem.

 

 

 

Derek's next call was to Scott. “Call Allison...because she has access to resources we don't and the sooner we don't get the blame for this, the better.”

 

 

 

He hung up without saying goodbye, of course. Stiles was still mildly impressed – Derek had just admitted, in a roundabout way, that the pack needed hunter help. It was all about teamwork, Stiles had been making that point for months now, and slowly Chris Argent and Derek were coming round to the idea, while still posturing for Alpha position in any discussion. Some things weren't ever going to change.

 

 

 

Derek looked at Isaac. “Patrol.”

 

 

 

The unspoken instruction was _don’t do anything stupid, don’t take it on alone_. A familiar tension was there at the corners of Derek’s eyes and jaw; he didn’t want to lose anybody else. He wasn’t alone in that goal.

 

 

 

After Isaac's exit, Stiles became one with the internet for a while, maybe a long while. He zipped through sites, message boards, and forums, paying particular attention to the ones that were threaded with truth and people discussing the actual supernatural rather than fictional fantasies. Online communities were usefully knowledgeable and helpful when it came to dealing with what went bump in the night.

 

 

 

At some point somebody put a cheese sandwich near his left hand and a large soda near his right. Then there were his ADD meds and something warm pressed up against his side. After a last drag of soda, Stiles emerged blinking from his internet cocoon, slowly becoming aware that the something warm close beside him was actually an Alpha werewolf, who was watching him intently. Hello, awkward boner.

 

 

 

“The victims don’t have anything in common,” he managed to spit out. “Other than their weirdly awake comas and the fact they all went under in Beacon Hills. There’s not even a sniff of a legend of any creature that can make this happen. It’s like we made it up.”

 

 

 

Whatever Derek was going to say was drowned out by whatever his wolf senses suddenly told him because he sat up sharply and got to his feet, leaving Stiles a bemused fuzzy pile on the couch.

 

 

 

“Jackson.”

 

 

 

While Stiles fought to get his brain fully back online, Lydia and Danny fought their way through the door, supporting Jackson between them. He wasn’t bleeding or vacant as far as Stiles could see, so that was a win, but he looked bewildered and way too pale. Lydia and Danny carefully got him onto a couch where he sat without any protest, another bad sign. Derek crouched down, grasping Jackson's knee, running a hand down his arm, reassuring them both. Jackson let out a broken noise. His shirt was torn, Stiles noticed.

 

 

 

“Isaac called, about our little problem,” Lydia started filling them in, looking pale herself but ruthlessly determined. “We started a circuit from the south and Jackson heard a scream. By the time we caught up with him, he was half-gone.”

 

 

 

“Half-gone where?” Stiles couldn’t help asking, gaining a blood-chillingly furious look from Lydia.

 

 

 

She loathed interruptions and probably wasn’t feeling charitable since her boyfriend had had some kind of close encounter of the creepy kind. He sent a sorry look Lydia’s way and got a considering eyebrow twitch in return. He and Lydia didn’t need words; being the two smartest people in the room kind of cut out the middle man. Stiles maintained that together they could have been the world's most glorious and awesome dictators. Sadly, that beautiful dream was completely trampled now, thanks to true love's healing powers. Stiles had stopped feeling really down about that months ago.

 

 

 

“He wasn’t trying to get away,” Danny supplied, pressing a warm drink into Jackson’s hands. “A couple were being attacked and whoever she was, she took a much more intense interest in Jackson once he showed up, so they’re safe.”

 

 

 

Well, that was good, only hold on. Stiles shook his head once, as though to clear it, aware of Derek’s warm presence near his legs, almost leaning against him. “I’m sorry, she? What exactly are we dealing with here?”

 

 

 

Danny shrugged a little helplessly, not a good sign, and Lydia took up the story again. “A woman, all in gray. She had her hands on Jackson’s shoulders, and he wasn’t struggling, at all.”

 

 

 

Lydia let those words sink in as she sat down beside Jackson, linking arms with him, leaning into him, just lending her presence. She was his anchor and he needed her. Stiles puzzled through her words. A woman, maybe a shapeshifter? Or a witch? But clearly not like any they’d come across before. This was ridiculously weird, and freaky. Stiles looked at Jackson again; the werewolf was shaking a little but his color was back and he was holding onto Lydia like a lifeline.

 

 

 

“We need Deaton,” Stiles decided out loud. “For Jackson, and for some actual answers.”

 

 

 

Derek took mutinous, like he was about to dismiss the idea but Stiles gestured towards Jackson and gave Derek a pointed look. Because really? It sounded like the hospital had enough mystery monster problems to deal with already and they wanted Mrs. McCall to stay on their side. So Derek got Jackson into his car, Stiles cramming in too with his laptop, and Lydia and Danny were sent to the hospital to work their personable magic on anybody there willing to talk. Lydia made Stiles promise to call her with any and all news. He crossed his heart and really hoped not to die.

 

 

 

Deaton didn't look all that surprised to see them when they arrived and immediately had Jackson lie down for a check-up. Derek paced and didn't take his eyes off Deaton. He'd been pretty hostile towards the vet ever since it'd become obvious how much Deaton wasn't telling them. Was Stiles the only one who saw the irony in Derek hating that?

 

 

 

Stiles tapped away at his laptop until Deaton stopped working on Jackson. “He'll be fine with rest.”

 

 

 

Deaton didn't ask who Jackson had run into, but the question was definitely implied in the silence. Derek glared back, clearly not on the sharing-train. Stiles rolled his eyes; they could have this fight another time, and oh boy, were they going to, but right now, they needed answers more.

 

 

 

“Something's been putting people in the hospital in conscious vegetative states. It sounds like Jackson was almost next on the menu. All we know is he didn't put up a fight when she got her hands on him and she was dressed in gray. So far I'm turning up zilch on identification. Can you fill in the blanks?”

 

 

 

Deaton's eyebrows shot up and he immediately turned to his bookshelf. Okay, so that was a yes? Hurray for incoming knowledge. Stiles' fingers were poised, ready to type, as Deaton cracked open a book with rough yellow binding. He flicked through the pages like he knew exactly what he was looking for and stopped on a page titled Wraiths.

 

 

 

“This particular bracket of Wraiths has become known as Grays, for obvious reasons. They aren't trying to cause pain or problems, they're drawn to grief, to those who've suffered loss, and when they find someone, they kill with kindness. They're drawing out all the grief and pained emotions, but once they latch on, they scoop out _everything_.”

 

 

 

Stiles shivered and was incredibly glad that his Dad was currently away visiting relatives. “Why go for everything if they’re just after the grief?”

 

 

 

“The grief is what they need, but once they have access to everything else, they see so much potential for pain that they take it all, soul and spirit.”

 

 

 

Their pack was fucked. “Is there anything that can defeat them? Please say love and clapping your hands if you want to believe?”

 

 

 

Deaton motioned to his book. “Silver helps, and I can mix up some pouches. They’ll keep a Gray back but only momentarily.”

 

 

 

Great. Well, prevention was almost as good as a cure. Stiles sent a capslocked text to Scott – MONSTER FEEDS ON GRIEF, PATROL THEN STAY INDOORS UNTIL WE SAY SO. Isaac and Scott had both suffered losses, particularly in the parental department for very different reasons, so there was plenty there for a Gray to feed on. Jackson though, why had the Gray gotten a hold on him? And why were Lydia and Danny able to wrestle him free? Well, he'd lost his humanity for a while. Or maybe it was about his parents, they were pretty absent in any sort of significant emotional way. Maybe that wasn't enough for the creature to get a proper grip on. If Derek got anywhere near it, he'd be wolf toast.

 

 

 

Speaking of Derek, he was looking extremely tense and clenched. Stiles shuffled a little closer, because he got it, he had a pretty enormous hole of loss drilled through his own life, exactly the kind of Happy Meal a Gray would love, and knowing that all the pain and grief that he'd been carrying around for so long, that was part of him now, could be _catnip_ , a tasty supernatural treat...Stiles' gut overturned at the thought. His Mom deserved better. So did Derek's family, so did Derek.

 

 

 

Derek's phone rang as Deaton handed over a couple of pouches with tight drawstring ends. They smelled pretty gross, which in Stiles' experience usually meant that they were very strong. Awesome. He stuffed one into his pocket and wondered if he could shove the other into Derek's jacket pocket so that there was a chance the Alpha wouldn't go all self-sacrificing...nope, Derek's hand grabbed his wrist as soon as Stiles reached out. Stiles hissed and shook the pouch at Derek, with a look that said _there's a magic practitioner here with us and I am not afraid to use him. We're wasting time!_

 

 

 

Derek's nostrils flared – Stiles _had_ to stop being interested in the minute variations of Derek's facial expressions – and he dropped Stiles' arm, enabling Stiles to push the pouch into a leather jacket pocket. Hello, Derek's extremely toned body. Derek could probably smell his reaction, even with the pungent pouch so close. Stiles stepped back hastily.

 

 

 

Derek hung up. “The coven corroborate Deaton's theory, they had no idea the Wraiths were here. They've made up pouches for Boyd and Erica.”

 

 

 

Stiles checked his own phone. “Lydia and Danny are on their way here, they can take Jackson, do another patrol and then put him under house arrest and Scott's told Allison, her Dad's spreading the word to any hunters in the area. They're going to stay off the radar too.”

 

 

 

Derek didn't look thrilled at keeping the Argents in the loop and yes, it sucked having Chris all up in their business, but better for them to know the truth than to find some way to blame the wolfpack for all this. Also Alison and her Dad had pretty obvious gaping losses themselves and whilst all-too-often lately Stiles had cheerfully hoped to see the back of the family Argent, they'd proved to be useful allies and had access to all kinds of helpful information.

 

 

 

So everybody had a patrol and lockdown buddy, which left Stiles making sure that the Alpha didn't get drawn into the Gray's flightplan. Business as usual then.

 

 

 

“So patrol before we go into lockdown?"

 

 

 

Derek looked very much like he wanted to grab Stiles by the scruff of the neck and shake him. “You stay here, I'll...”

 

 

 

“Get drained by the monster tailor-made to decimate you. Truly, your planning is astounding.” Stiles raised an eyebrow at Derek's narrowed-eyes, because yes, those words hurt, but it was the truth, it was supposed to hurt. “I'm coming with, someone needs to stall your self-sacrificing savior complex. Who'd be the next Alpha? Scott? Because I love him but can you see him getting Jackson to toe the line? Or getting an inch of respect out of Lydia?”

 

 

 

Stiles propelled them both towards the door with his sheer torrent of words – a tried and tested method – and grasped for the knife that he frequently had on hand now, silver and wicked-sharp with some very interesting runes etched onto the blade. He'd only had to use it a few times, and it might not do much to a Wraith, but any step forward was something. Maybe he could use it to distract the Wraith and then Derek could call in the rest of the pack. The Gray probably couldn't handle them all, right?

 

 

 

Derek was quieter than usual, his fingers tensed into fists and his eyes scanning the treeline as they took the long route around Hale territory. Stiles’ gaze was drawn to both the scenery and to Derek himself – the moon lit him up and did incredible things to his chiseled face. And those were private thoughts, which were hopefully not being transmitted to the werewolf world at large. Stiles snuck another look at Derek, to check just how much nostril-flaring was going on, only to find that Derek's face was hardening and he was rearing back like he was about to shift...there! Stiles unsheathed his knife, the silver making Derek freeze, and Stiles turned and ran, because there was the Gray emerging through the trees. It was a young female form, swathed in what looked like gray phosphorus veils, her head bowed. She almost looked like a nun, and there was something calming about her, something that drew Stiles in.

 

 

 

There was a low whispering noise as she moved and she was heading straight for Stiles, maybe because he was human and Derek had shifted. Derek...where was Derek? The appearance of silver shouldn’t have shorted him out for that long, he should have been able to alert the rest of the pack by now. Stiles managed to look back and there was Derek, close to the ground and struggling as though held by invisible bonds. Fuck, did the Gray want him for dessert? Stiles pushed down dread and bile and turned back to the Gray. This was why he was here; to provide a distraction, to keep the Gray away from Derek and to keep it occupied so that the rest of the pack could get here and try and deal with it properly in some way, a way not planned yet but a combined effort usually had a positive outcome, usually. Maybe they could overfeed the Gray, the pack certainly contained enough loss for that.

 

 

 

Stiles took a deep breath, supernatural tendrils of calm winding through him, pushing at any magical resistance, beginning to strip away his concerns. Suddenly he wasn't so worried anymore, for the first time in a long time he was actually close to _relaxed_. It was amazing, and Derek couldn't have it. In fact...Stiles dropped the knife, plunged a hand into his pocket and tossed away the enchanted pouch, much better. Derek might have made a noise but that was pretty impossible.

 

 

 

The wraith was close now and there was a hand, gray and translucent. It felt very real though as it cupped Stiles’ cheek; cool like juice straight from the fridge on a hot day, refreshing and perfect. Her other hand pressed over his heart and Stiles sighed, his eyes closing. He was filled with such an amazing sense of blissful gladness; somebody was taking on the familiar parcel of Mom grief and Dad guilt that he'd been carrying around for so many years. It was the most overwhelming relief to finally give it away. Oh and there was the loss of Scott too, he'd been drifting away lately, sure, have that too. Her hand stroked Stiles' cheek and Stiles realized, in a detached sort of way, that he was crying, tears trickling down his face. He smiled, he was grateful and Deaton was wrong, it didn’t feel like anything was being scooped out of him at all. It just felt _wonderful_.

 

 

 

Stiles sagged against the Gray. Somewhere in the distance there was a roaring sound but it was so far away and Stiles felt so good, so content and at peace for the first time in so long…

 

 

 

Then suddenly it was like red-hot needles of pain were being plunged into him. The Gray was screaming and her hands were hurting him and then...then Stiles was the one who was screaming.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The world was all dark when Stiles came back to consciousness. He felt almost like he was floating. Stiles licked his lips, he could hear noises. Where was he again? And what exactly had happened? With great effort, his eyes flickered open and he found himself in a dark room. He was lying on a bed apparently and it wasn’t a familiar one. Worry and more than an edge of panic started to set in. His limbs felt incredibly heavy so it wasn’t like he could run. Was this some kind of base, for the Gray? That didn’t sound right.

 

 

 

“The pack wanted you safe.”

 

 

 

Holy crap. Stiles’ heartbeat ran wild at the sudden and unexpected voice and there was Derek sat in a chair in one of the darkest corners of the room. He seemed to be in one piece, which settled something deep in Stiles. Yay for the Gray not bagging an Alpha’s grief. Wait, what about…

 

 

 

“Oh my God, is Scott okay? And…”

 

 

 

Scott and Isaac burst into the room before Stiles could ask any more worried questions. Well, that answered that. Scott and Isaac crowded in close, both looking him over carefully. It was sweet, even seeing Isaac leaning towards Scott just made Stiles smile. Maybe he was on the good drugs, or, you know, high on narrowly escaping death, again.

 

 

 

“I'm fine. I'm all here...right?”

 

 

 

Scott nodded, looking very stoked to see him. “You're good, dude. You were out for hours though.”

 

 

 

Isaac settled a hand on Stiles’ wrist and squeezed, which made Stiles smile a little more. Isaac was good people, even if he had been monopolizing Scott’s time lately. Scott offered Stiles a drink with a straw stuck in it, which actually helped a lot, and then casually explained that Stiles was all heavy-limbed because he’d been badly drained when Derek had finally been able to kill the wraith.

 

 

 

Stiles’ gaze shot immediately to Derek. Derek had killed that Gray? Even though he’d been supernaturally bound and no-doubt supernaturally eager for her to get her hands on him and his grief? Derek stared back, his expression as stoic as always, but Stiles saw something else there that made his heart thump a little faster and damn, he was in a room full of werewolves who would have picked up on that.

 

 

 

He plastered on a smile as Scott gave him a way-too-knowing look. “I’d ask if you wanted me to stay instead of get out on patrol but…”

 

 

 

“Go. Now.”

 

 

 

Scott laughed and nodded at Derek before heading off with Isaac. That left Stiles and Derek alone together, an idea that had fueled many of Stiles’ fantasies, now though it was just awkward. Stiles cleared his throat, which turned into a coughing fit. Smooth.

 

 

 

Derek crossed the room quickly and helped him sit up, refilling his glass and holding the straw to his lips. His touch was surprisingly gentle and his eyes were intent on Stiles. Stiles tried really hard not to get too overheated, but it was especially difficult when Derek was being so careful. It was even more of a turn on than his usual intense glowering, and yes, okay, Stiles knew that he had a problem when he found Derek's anti-social behavior both endearing and hot.

 

 

 

Stiles' musings were interrupted by a bowl of cheesecake being placed on his stomach. It looked familiar. “Isn't this mine?”

 

 

 

“I hear it's got healing properties.”

 

 

 

Did Derek just make a joke? Stiles gaped and was about to ask where the real Derek Hale was when Derek shoved a spoonful of cheesecake into Stiles' open mouth. Naturally it was delicious and Stiles was not going to argue. Derek was feeding him cheesecake, okay. Maybe Stiles was still outcold and having some kind of awesomely freaky dream. There were way worse places to be.

 

 

 

Derek's arm slid around Stiles and Stiles felt something shifting. There was definitely something different happening, something new in the way Derek looked at him and behaved. Stiles stared back and tried to peer under Derek's well-worn mask. Did Derek...know what had actually happened with the Gray? That Stiles hadn't just gone to her because he'd been compelled to, but because then Derek couldn't. It was what Derek would have done, which was why Stiles had done it first.

 

 

 

And here was Derek, looking at Stiles in a very new way and his arm was around Stiles, keeping him in place, and yep...Derek definitely knew. He was probably keeping Stiles in one place so that he could yell at him for being so stupid and for not letting Derek take that hit for the team. The cheesecake was totally just a smokescreen to keep Stiles neutered so that Derek could start shouting when Stiles was all comfortable and not armed with razor-sharp responses.

 

 

 

Derek's hands grazed Stiles' face. Stiles stilled, heart in his mouth as the bowl was removed and Derek made himself comfortable on the bed. Either this was a hell of a smokescreen or Derek had something much more serious in mind.

 

 

 

“Nothing's missing?” Derek pressed a hand to Stiles' chest, over his heart. “You still remember...?”

 

 

 

Remember...? _Oh_....Stiles felt a deep pang; Derek was deliberately not naming all the things that the Gray could have sucked out of Stiles. He thought about it, about his Mom, Lydia, Scott...yep, all the pain and loss was still there. That was probably all thanks to Derek. It was strange; to be thankful for those bone-deep aches, for the melancholy that he was so used to carrying around. But he couldn’t imagine existing without it either, remembering his Mom was worth any pain.

 

 

 

God, he'd nearly lost his Mom, all over again.

 

 

 

Stiles closed his eyes, both hating and feeling really glad that Derek was the one here for his meltdown, because Derek would totally get not wanting to talk about it, but he'd also no doubt feel super-awkward about seeing Stiles' emotions leak everywhere so he was probably already readying his swift exit when Stiles really didn't want to be alone right now.

 

 

 

Derek was full of surprises though, because he stayed right where he was, a firm line of heat against Stiles' side, his arm around Stiles so that Stiles could curl up closer if he wanted to. Oh, well, maybe it was a pack thing. Stiles had seen Derek comfort Erica and Isaac and Boyd whenever they were hurt or suffering supernatural blues, it was always sort of intensely sweet and private and always made something thrum through Stiles. The last time he'd gotten hurt, Scott had curled up next to him and had refused to leave for a whole day. Erica and Isaac had been such frequent visitors that they might as well have lain down on his other side and Boyd had practically _hovered_. Derek though, Derek always stayed neatly away whenever Stiles got hurt, which sucked hard because Stiles was always looking for him, needing the reassurance of his solid brooding presence. Something else to add to the ‘Stiles has a problem called Derek’ list.

 

 

 

Now Derek wasn’t going anywhere and oh, Stiles was crying again and Derek’s lips brushed Stiles’ cheeks, silently catching the falling tears. Stiles let out a strangled noise, pretty sure that words were beyond him right now. Derek got that, he was all careful gestures and his eyes…his eyes spoke fierce volumes. Stiles swallowed and pressed just a little closer. He was pretty sure that Derek didn’t do this for the others.

 

 

 

Derek let out a breath, the warm air brushing Stiles’ skin. It made his heart skip a beat and that, Derek would definitely hear. The werewolf made a noise, thumbing at Stiles’ face as though catching more tears. Were there more tears?

 

 

 

Derek's hands traveled to Stiles’ collarbone, working at the knotted muscles under Stiles’ skin. Derek got it. What had happened to his family was such a part of him, if he lost any of it…well, Stiles couldn’t imagine that depth of loss. Derek knew what Stiles needed and for some reason had decided to be the one to provide it, despite the probably overwhelming grief smell and unfortunate arousal that Stiles had to be giving off. That had to mean something, right?

 

 

 

Sharp teeth bit at his ear. The shock of it made an embarrassing noise exit Stiles’ mouth, but it also made goosebumps rise up all over his body. Okay, so maybe Derek liked the unfortunate arousal that he was currently drowning in courtesy of Stiles. And, wow, wasn’t that a thought?

 

 

 

When Derek's hand moved dangerously close to Stiles' mouth, Stiles didn't resist temptation, not when temptation was wrapped so thoroughly around him. Derek's sharp in-take of breath when Stiles nibbled on a knuckle or two did very interesting and awesome things to Stiles and Derek was staying and... _encouraging_. God, Stiles hoped that this wasn't some kind of fever dream, some fugue state that he'd dropped into because the Gray had gotten her creepy hands on him.

 

 

 

Stiles nipped again at Derek's fingers and tasted salt and blood – had Derek been bleeding? What had he done to free himself from the Gray's clutches? Stiles was totally going to demand an explanation later and Derek would have to reply, privilege of the injured and yes, Stiles was going to milk that. His lips touched Derek's hand again but this time they were gentle. Derek's chest emitted a growl that made Stiles' toes curl.

 

 

 

“That's not playing fair,” he muttered, head buried somewhere near Derek's chest.

 

 

 

Derek said something but Stiles didn't hear it. It had been a _long_ day and it was starting to catch up with him.

 

 

 

In the morning, there were still bite marks on Stiles' ear and Derek's knuckles. There was still water to drink and really good cheesecake to eat. There was still Derek, wrapped around Stiles, checking his heart. Derek still had eyes full of secrets, but they were focused on Stiles.

 

 

 

_-the end_


End file.
